


The Prize of All-Too-Precious You

by Mertens



Series: Sonnet 86 [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Love Triangles, One Shot, Phalentines, Pre-Relationship, Valentine's Day, did they even have valentines day in france back then, he say "do you love me" she tell him "only partly I only love singing and being on stage I'm sorry", i don't know how to write a one shot or just when to stop in general, i dont know and i dont care for research, lets just pretend okay, title from Shakespeare's Sonnet 86, written for timebird84's challenge, yes its the length of my 10 chapter story but if i post it all at once its totally a one shot right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: Christine Daae finally gets the chance to go to a Valentine's Day party, but when something comes up and Raoul is suddenly unable to accompany her, Erik steps up and escorts her to the party instead - causing her to examine her feelings towards both men.





	The Prize of All-Too-Precious You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for timebird84's Phalentines Challenge on tumblr, where the goal was to write a Valentine's Day one shot incorporating at least 3 quotes from list Timebird84 provided. The quotes are in bold.
> 
> I realize that the prompt said to make it "suitable for Valentine's Day" and not "make it specifically about Valentine's Day", but for some reason to me "suitable for Valentine's Day" means "make it clearly Valentine's Day" because that's just how I am. When I was a kid and I'd draw a picture of a cat, I'd always make sure to write in big, capital letters "CAT" with the word underlined and an arrow pointing right to the cat's face, just so you would know it was a cat. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> someone out there a lot smarter than me could probably read a lot into that if they tried, but please don't

A certain date on the calendar drew ever closer. 

Erik didn't care for much for holidays and the marking of special events and such. Aside from keeping track of when the Opera House had rehearsals and shows - and of course, scheduling his lessons with Christine - he didn't have much need for marking the passage of time at all. But he had found in more recent years that his eye would start to be drawn to those special dates, and his mind would start to wander to the possibilities such days could hold. The fact that so far _none_ of the days had held anything other than what they usually held did not deter him from his imaginings. He imagined the two of them sitting by the fire on Christmas, taking a lovely walk in the park on Easter, of drinking champagne on New Year's. He imagined them doing all sorts of things that he assumed normal couples did on holidays. He imagined Valentine's Day, and just a hint of color crept into his face.

Christine glanced at her calendar every morning, at the little blank box just like all the others but oh, so different, and how it steadily moved closer and closer. So far all of her Valentine’s Days had spent rather alone - or at least, without a date. While the other girls she knew typically went out with their sweethearts on that day, Christine had often spent them at home with Mamma Valerius. This year, however, she was secretly hoping it would be different. Oh, she didn’t make a fuss about it like the other girls at the Opera House did - she remained mostly silent when they started trading gossip of who was hoping to be asked out by who, and how this one would simply _die_ if the boy they had their eye on didn’t ask them out, and who’s patron had planned what for the big day. She merely listened to it all with a detached curiosity and a little twist in her chest at the thought of spending yet another Valentine’s Day alone. It wasn’t so bad to be alone, really - most of the time she really didn’t mind it at all, as it gave her more freedom to do as she pleased with her time and energy. But it was the pitying from all the other girls when they’d ask how she’d spent the day that always bothered her. They’d sigh over her and give advice on how to catch a beau and worst of all, they’d offer to set her with someone, and she simply couldn’t abide that - in her childhood she had often depended on the charity of strangers to get by, but she firmly refused to become a charity case in her love life as well. 

But this year was very likely to be different than all the years before it - Raoul had returned from his latest expedition. She had heard from the other girls that there was to be a grand party thrown by a minor noble family that she knew Raoul was friends with, and she was dearly hoping he would invite her to go with him. In the time since he’d been back, they had gone out a few times, and although they weren’t courting she _did_ get the feeling that they might also be just slightly more than friends. She was going to meet with him again that very evening after rehearsals, and she vowed to herself that the topic would come up even if she had had to scandalize them both and ask _him_ to the party.

As soon as she was released from the stage she ran back to her dressing room and changed as quickly as she could, taking off her stage makeup but deciding to leave her false eyelashes on. She pulled her hair up in a new ribbon, tying it into a neat bow. From hearing the talk from the other girls, she had the suspicion that most men didn’t notice such things very often, but she knew for a fact that Raoul did as he had complimented her before on little things like her shoes or gloves and that he could recognize which ones she’d worn before and which were new. 

He met her just outside the front entrance on the steps, his eyes lighting up when he caught sight of her. She was breathless by the time she had quickly descended the stairs, but her smile was wide. 

“How was rehearsal, Lottie?” he asked. 

“Oh, just fine, Raoul. But I’m glad they’re over now, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day!”

He graciously offered her his arm, which she took. They started on a walk along the Seine. They chatted about this and that until finally they stopped along a bridge, leaning on the railing and looking out at how the setting sun made the water sparkle and flash. They were silent a moment before Raoul cleared his throat.

“Christine, there is something I wanted to ask you.”

This was it. Christine straightened up, her pulse quickening. She lowered her eyelashes just so, a small smile playing at her lips. 

“What is it, Raoul?”

He stared intently out at the water, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Do you think I should grow my hair out?”

Her face fell. 

“Do you think it would look good, I mean?” he continued. 

She pursed her lips as he ran his hand through his wavy locks. 

“I suppose it might,” she looked away. “It is your hair to do as you please with it.”

His expression softened as he glanced over at her. 

“I only ask because your opinion means a great deal to me, you know. I would hope to look... _pleasing_ to you.”

A blush crept onto her cheeks. 

“You’re pleasing to me no matter what you look like, Raoul.”

“That’s not all I wanted to ask of you.”

His heart was in his throat - he was certain she was able to see his pulse. He couldn’t account for his sudden nerves. They had known each other for years, they were quite close - and even if they hadn’t been, Raoul knew he had a lot going for him. He was handsome enough, and a vicomte to boot. He was certain any woman he asked out would say yes. But still- he swallowed hard. He didn’t have the faintest idea what he would do if she turned him down. What if she didn’t think of him in that way? What if he made it awkward between them just by asking? 

“Louis is throwing a party on Valentine’s Day, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now. Would you... like to go with me?”

“Yes!” she squealed. “Yes, I’d love to!”

She grabbed his arm and leaned against him, grinning. Raoul laughed in relief, placing a hand over hers. 

He walked her back to the Opera House, kissing her hand as he reluctantly bid her goodnight. She sighed happily as she slid into bed that night, and the next day she could t help it when the news spilled out of her, telling the other girls of her plans to attend the party with the vicomte. She giggled with them all as they talked about it, and she finally felt like part of the group instead of an outsider who was merely eavesdropping. 

She had a vocal lesson the day after that, and she was still floating on the cloud of her elation at new development, so much so that Erik commented on it. 

“You’re in quite a good mood this day, my dear. Is there any particular reason?” he asked curiously. 

She squirmed under his consideration. She didn’t like talking to him about Raoul. He would get a faraway look in his eyes on the rare occasions that Raoul came up in conversation, and she could tell it made him uneasy. Once he had quite unexpectedly sprung the question on her about whether she and ‘the boy’ were courting or not, unable to meet her eye as he had asked. She had told him no, for they weren’t, and he had only nodded a little before quickly changing the subject. 

“Well, there’s this big party on Valentine’s Day.”

Erik stilled. 

“And Raoul asked me to go with him.”

She cursed herself as soon as the words were out, for that look immediately crossed his face. It looks as though there was a vague pain somewhere in his body, as if he were on the verge of remembering some terrible nightmare that plays at the back of his mind but the full horror of it hasn’t hit him yet. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “You must be quite excited.”

He turned back to the piano, his hands flexing and hovering over the keys but never making contact with any of them. He blinked hard a few times and frowned down at them. 

“It’s just-“ she struggled to find the words to reassure him. “Well, it’ll be the first year I’ve gone out on Valentine’s Day.”

He nodded, squeezing his hands into fists before letting them drop to his side. He couldn’t seem to remember what tune it was he had wanted to play. 

“I believe we have come to the end of our lesson today,” he finally said. 

“We’ll have one tomorrow at the same time, yes?” she asked hopefully. 

He finally turned to look at her. 

“Of course, Christine. If you wish it.”

“I do,” she smiled at him, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. 

“Would you like anything to eat or drink before you go?” he asked eagerly as he rose from the piano bench. 

“Perhaps just some tea?” she said, following him from the room and into his kitchen. 

They had been having her lessons in his home by the underground lake for several months now. She far preferred it to her stuffy old dressing room where anyone might overhear them. It had been a week after he had first brought her to his home that he had worked up the courage to offer her the use of his guest room, an offer she had taken him up on numerous times - sometimes it was just simpler to be able to retire to what they now both thought of as ‘her’ room in his house rather go all the way back upstairs, especially after long practice sessions and trying lessons. She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt wondering what Raoul have to say about that if he knew, at how slighted he’d feel that she never told him about the arrangement, but she supposed it only made the two men even - after all, she had never told Erik about all the letters she and Raoul had written to each other, the fairly regular correspondence they had kept up for several years at this point. 

She leaned against the countertop as she watched him light the samovar. She loved watching him in his home, regardless of whatever task he was undertaking there. In the safety of his own home, surrounded by locks and alarms and away from the prying eyes and cruelty of the world above, he moved with such an easy confidence, a grace that was always absent whenever she’d see him elsewhere. She had seen him once, in the market with his cape draped over him and his hat tipped low to cover as much of his mask as it could. He had been all angles and stiffness, a bowstring pulled taut by anxiety, ready to react to the slightest provocation. So different from who he was here. His sleeves were rolled up halfway to his elbows, exposing such pale skin that was so rarely revealed - he had an odd penchant for wearing gloves when he was above no matter the weather - and she couldn’t help marvel at the sight of that and those long, thin hands as they pulled two teacups out of a cupboard. 

When the tea was brewed he placed one of the cups in front of her, and she thanked him. It never ceased to amaze her how utterly _normal_ it felt to be in his house with him, when the situation was anything but. She felt safe when she was around him, like she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t reproach her for it, no matter what it was. It might _hurt_ him, like when she talked about going out with Raoul, but he had never shamed her or attempted to make her feel guilty for anything, and she felt certain that he never would. He lived entirely outside of the expectations of society, and when she was with him she felt the burden of those expectations ease off of her own shoulders as well. Just being around her strange tutor was a freeing experience. 

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight, Erik?” she asked after a lull in their gossip about the other singers. “Marie just got engaged and she won’t stop going on about wedding planning and waving her ring in everyone’s face.”

Christine rolled her eyes as she thought of it. She couldn’t bear to have to see that giant, shiny diamond one more time. 

“Not at all,” Erik brightened. You know you’re welcome here anytime, you do not have to ask.” 

“Thank you,” she sighed. “If I get asked one more time which type of flower looks better with which lace doilies, I swear I’m going to scream.”

Erik chuckled. 

“She is in love, my dear. She can’t help it.”

He gazed at her with a fondness that made her almost uncomfortable, as though the conversation had skirted dangerously close to a topic that was one she’d rather avoid yet was always just there under the surface. 

She chose to ignore his comment in favor of placing her teacup in the sink. 

“The tea was lovely.”

He nodded, his own thoughts still elsewhere. 

She sat by the fireplace for a little while, and he joined her, though he kept a respectful distance as he sat in his chair and read a book, his eyes occasionally straying to take in the shape of her as she sat on the plush rug close to the flames. She was so beautiful, even like that, even though she was far too old to be sprawling across the floor in such a manner - it didn’t matter to him in the least. She was lovely, no matter how undignified or unladylike she saw fit to be, and nothing would change his mind on that. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wanting to commit that moment to memory, how the firelight played off of her dark hair, how her hand threaded through the thick material of the rug, the utter domesticity of the scene - the two of them there in the same room, he with his book in hand and her relaxing so close to him. 

If someone were to see them there like that in a photo, one might almost think that it would not be too unlikely that they were a husband and wife. 

He opened his eyes. 

They were not a husband and wife. They were just Erik and Christine, a deformed maestro cursed to live under the ground and promising young opera singer with her entire life before her up there in the sunlight, and they would never be anything more. Not to each other, at least. Erik knew this. 

Most of the time it was enough to simply have her there. Especially on days like these, when they’d sing together and share food afterwards before she’d retire to her room just down the hall from his - he could almost pretend that she loved him. Pretend that she was his (he didn’t have to pretend that _he_ was _hers_ , he already was and always would be), that they could just keep going on like this forever. He could pretend that easily. Most of the time. 

But invariably something would happen to break the illusion, like her mention of the party. Something that would remind him that he was only playing at being anything more to her than what he was. It would crash down on him then, that one day she would leave him and not come back. One day she would wake up in her room across from his and it would be the last day she’d wake there, there would be a cup of tea together that would be the last cup of tea together, one last night reading by the fire before his life was suddenly empty and absent the radient sun that had cast light into the darkest corners of his existence. She was never his, and she never would be. 

But he could pretend. 

She rose from the rug and stretched a moment, the motion drawing his gaze once more. She made her way past his chair on her way out, briefly placing one hand on the arm rest next to him as she paused for the slightest of moments. 

“Goodnight, Erik. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, his heart fluttering at intimacy of her action even though she had only touched the chair and not him. 

He stayed up a while longer before finally departing for his own bedroom, lingering just a moment outside her closed door. He very nearly placed a splayed hand against the carved wood door, not to push it open but just to touch it, thinking of his sweet Christine just on the other side of it, cradled in peaceful slumber - but he jerked his hand back at the last second as though he had been burned and kept walking. The notion of merely touching her door seemed far too personal, too intimate to ever have the right to belong to him. Let her sleep continue undisturbed, her door remain unmarred by his touch. 

It was always difficult for him when she’d leave in the morning, the ineffable joy he’d feel at seeing her and knowing they had awoken in the same house, tempered by the loss he was about to endure, unsure of when the next time she’d stay over would be. 

It was lucky for him, then, that on this particular day he had no idea where she was going after she stepped out into bright sunlight on the Rue Scribe, because it only would have magnified his sadness. 

It had been two days since Raoul had asked her about the party, and the first time she’d seen him since. She was looking forward to their breakfast together at the bistro, but she regretted that it meant she couldn’t stay for breakfast with Erik. Still, the smile on her face only grew as she approached the bistro. 

Once inside, she quickly spotted Raoul and hurried over to the table he had picked for them. Her smiled began to fade, however, when she saw the look of misery on his face. 

“Lottie,” he sighed sadly. “How are you this fine morning?”

“I’m good, but it doesn’t look like you’re having a very fine morning at all. What’s wrong?”

He shifted nervously. The words of his commanding officer from the previous day still rang in his ears. 

“I’m afraid I have bad news. I’m- I’m not going to be able to take you to the party after all.”

She twisted her napkin in her hands. 

“May I ask why?”

Had she displeased him somehow? Has he changed his mind? Was- was there someone else? 

“It wasn’t my choice at all - my commanding officer ordered us to come in for our usual drills on that day. All of the others in my rank I talked to thought for sure we were getting the day off!” 

“But it’s Valentine’s Day,” she slumped in her chair. “And this is supposed to be the off season, isn’t it? There’s not another expedition to prepare for until months from now.”

“I know! I told him! I even told him I had already had a prior engagement, but he refused to hear it,” he crossed his arms, frustrated. “I am so sorry, Christine. I wanted to take you to the party so badly, and I know you were looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright, Raoul,” she managed a smile for his sake. “There will be other parties. I’m sure we can find one to go to before your next expedition.”

Raoul reached out and squeezed her hand. 

“It was going to be perfect,” he murmured. 

Of course his dear Christine had no way of knowing his full plans for the party - plans that were now dashed into pieces. He didn’t know when the chance would come again. It certainly wouldn’t be the same at any other party. But still, there was simply nothing to be done about it. 

“I hope you aren’t too mad at me,” he said sheepishly. 

“Of course not, it’s not your fault,” she assured him. 

She wasn’t upset with him - but she was upset all the same. Oh, why did she have to say anything to all the opera girls? If she ended up not going, they would surely assume she made it all up for attention and they never let her live that down. 

“Well, enough of this sorry situation,” he changed the subject. “Let us discuss more pleasant topics. I trust you slept well last night?”

The first real smile since hearing the news crept over her mouth. She placed her napkin on the table and smoothed it out. 

“I slept quite well, thank you for asking,” she replied demurely, thinking about where she had spent the previous night. It was true - she always slept better in Erik’s home. 

They enjoyed their breakfast together, an event only slightly spoiled by the news he had told her at the beginning of it. 

As they were about to part ways afterwards, he grabbed her arm before she could leave. 

“Promise me, Christine, that you’ll still go to the party even though I’m not going? It’s not just for couples, you know. I already told Louis you’d be there, and he’s so looking forward to meeting you. Please?”

She hesitated. 

“I- I suppose so.”

“Thank you,” he hugged her tightly. “And I’ll find a way to make this up to you, I swear it. Perhaps you’ll have a friend who would like to go with you to this one.”

They parted. As she made her way back to the Opera House, her spirits sank lower and lower thinking over the situation. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t _want_ to go to the party alone - if she was interested in doing such a thing, she would have done it years ago! Going alone was more embarrassing than _not_ going at all! 

She had worked herself into quite a mood about it by the time she closed her dressing room door. Once the lock was turned she flung herself on the divan and began to cry. It was a few minutes later that she heard the mirror slide back in its frame and that familiar voice called out to her. 

“Christine, why are you crying? What is the matter, dear child?”

She cringed inwardly at his choice of endearment - she knew he was only falling back on his old role as an angel, probably too disturbed by the sight of her tears to muster anything else, but she was not a child anymore. Besides, hearing it only back memories of when she still thought The Voice was truly heaven-sent, a memory of how he had lied to her in his bungled attempt to become a part of her life. She would have to speak to him about not calling her that again in the future, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

“Raoul isn’t able to take me to the party after all,” she managed to say, her face still buried in the pillows on the divan. 

“My poor dear. It’ll be alright,” he crooned. “Dry your eyes, child-“

“Don’t call me that, Erik,” she sniffed, sitting upright and scrubbing her sleeve across her face. 

He dropped his Angel’s timbre, his voice returning to simply Erik’s. 

“Forgive me, Christine. You know how I hate to see you cry.”

She nodded, and he slowly approached to sit next to her on the divan. 

“I am sorry your plans were spoiled. I know it was very important to you.”

He certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over the idea of the boy not spending extra time with her, but he couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy. He would officiate the wedding the between her and the boy if meant her guaranteed happiness. 

“Raoul says he still wants me to go by myself, but I really don’t want to at all. It’s embarrassing!” she whined. “It’s like flaunting how alone I am in front of all of Paris.”

“Then don’t be alone,” he said simply. 

The silence hung heavy in the room, and he suddenly realized the implication she’d infer that he hadn’t intended to imply. 

“What I mean to say is, go to the party with Meg and Jammes or some of the other girls who don’t have dates.”

She shook her head. 

“Everyone I’d consider going with already has a date,” she said softly. 

She glanced shyly across at him. 

“ _Almost_ everyone,” she added. 

“You don’t have to go to the party, you know.”

“I promised him.”

“So? The boy won’t even be there, Christine, he’d never know.” 

She hung her head. 

“ _I_ wanted to go, though. I’ve never been to a party like that.”

He sighed. 

She wanted so desperately to ask him, but felt deeply ashamed to do so. To ask now felt like she was putting him in second place, making him a mere afterthought in her life when he was anything but. She didn’t want him to feel like he was the last resort, like she was only asking because Raoul had fallen through. Erik deserved so much better than that. Besides, she knew how uncomfortable he was moving around in groups of people. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t simply asked him in the first place before Raoul even mentioned anything. 

She pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes as more tears started to flow. 

“I’m sorry,” she laughed sadly. “It’s such a silly problem to have, I don’t know how I get myself into these messes.”

She sniffed hard and blinked fast. He was about to tell her that it wasn’t silly if it mattered to her, that she should never be sorry for feeling an emotion, but she spoke again before he had the chance. 

“I hate to break a promise but I simply can't do it, Erik. I can't go. Raoul will just have to understand.”

“Christine,” he asked evenly, trying to not betray any emotion, staring directly ahead of him and unable to meet her eye lest he lose his nerve. “You are certain you cannot find anyone to go to the party with?”

She nodded. 

“And would you much rather go with someone than stay home, yes?”

She nodded again. 

“Would-“ the words stuck in his throat. “Would you - you can say no, Christine, it’s alright if you do, I completely understand - but would you like me to go with you?”

She sucked in a breath. 

“Just so you wouldn’t be alone, you know,” he added hastily. “It doesn’t have to _be_ anything or mean anything.”

She worried at her lip with her teeth, trying to think of what to say. 

“It didn’t particularly _mean_ anything with Raoul, either,” she said carefully. “He and I aren’t courting. We do go out together, but that’s all it is, really.”

She fiddled with her hands. 

“It’s just a party,” she said weakly. 

She wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. 

“And it’s a party you deserve to go to, and you shouldn’t have to go by yourself. You shouldn’t be denied the experience just because the boy can’t take you,” he justified. 

She felt overwhelmed by his kindness.

“Oh, Erik,” she sighed. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

He smiled softly, his heart still pounding in his ears from nervous and disbelief at his boldness. 

“Think nothing of it, Christine.” 

They met again later that evening for her lesson, but they didn’t speak of the party, and she went back upstairs after the lesson was over. 

Due to their schedules she didn’t have a chance to see Raoul again before the party. She was surprised at how easily her disappointment had faded once Erik had offered to attend with her. If anything, her excitement for the event only grew, if only for the reason that she had never been somewhere with Erik before. She was nervous as well, hoping that he hadn’t just offered in the hopes of cheering her without thinking of his own comfort at such an event. She wondered if perhaps he’d be as nervous as he had been that day she’d caught a glimpse of him in the market, if he would dance with her out in front of everyone or if he would merely hide in some corner or behind a curtain the entire time. 

The day finally came, and she met him near the Rue Scribe entrance. He seemed anxious, but some of his tension faded when he saw her.

Erik’s eyes roved over Christine as she approached him, a sweet smile on her face. Her long curls were loosely pinned up, her dress a pale pink with a flowing gauzy skirt with small embroidered roses here and there, the bodice tightly fitted and sleeves which left the tops of her shoulders bare. 

“You look quite nice, Erik,” she was glad of the dim twilight to hide the color on her face - while he always dressed quite finely, tonight he was wearing a waistcoat and jacket with fine embroidery and beadwork, and for a moment she wondered if he had ever had somewhere to wear these before. 

His eyes snapped up to her face and he realized he’d been silently staring. His face flushed. 

“You look quite lovely yourself, Christine,” he said tightly, fidgeting. 

The cab pulled up and saved him from having to say anything further to stave off the awkward silence. He hesitantly held out his hand to help her into the cab, uncertain of whether or not she’d want to touch his hand - he always feared the chill in his fingers would be noticeable even through his gloves - but she didn’t pause and she thanked him afterward. 

Christine fretted to herself the entire journey to the party. She had never been out with Erik before and no idea what to expect. Perhaps he’d sulk in the shadows the entire night, or maybe he’d be so tightly strung that he’d barely speak at all. She dearly hoped that this wasn’t a mistake, that he wouldn’t get into a fight with anyone or break under the mental strain. 

Her heart sank a little as he stared out the little window and asked, “Will there be very many people at this party?”

“I would imagine there will be.”

He nodded. 

She so wished that he was able to go about life in a normal fashion, that he didn’t have reason to be concerned at being in a crowd. It wasn’t fair to him, and though it felt selfish to think, it wasn’t fair to her either. It was a private thought that pained her on occasion, how not normal his life was, and how anyone who shared their life with him would have to become not normal as well. 

She recalled, as she often did when thinking of these kinds of things, the words of her dear Mamma Valerius - “ **Your heart is free, have the courage to follow it** , my dear”. 

Her heart was free, yes, unencumbered from the boundaries others would enforce there - she tried her best to live virtuously as she saw fit. She had no problem with that part of her Mamma’s advice. It was her mind that was cluttered and flustered, full of second guessing whatever she thought her heart might be choosing regardless of what that choice was. How could one even gather the courage to follow ones heart if ones mind was constantly doubting the sincerity of the heart’s choices? 

Although she was quite certain that she wasn’t interested in marriage for quite some time, she knew that wanted to marry _eventually_. She had her career to focus on right now, and that was plenty for her to pour all of her attention into... But she was not un-afflicted by thoughts of love. She always _had_ been one to plan for the future. 

But the trouble was she couldn’t seem to see which path her future should take. Two men that she cared for and enjoyed, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes she hated the logical part of herself that examined every situation from every angle, as though each man were an equation to be solved and not a flesh and blood human being with thoughts and emotions, as though the choice between the two of them could be boiled down to a list of attributes with numerical scores and all one had to do to pick between them was add up the numbers. 

She wished sometimes that she could be like the other girls, that a wave of emotion could simply overwhelm that logic and wash it away, making the choice for her. Or perhaps it already had and she was simply scared of the result - maybe the true issue wasn’t not knowing where her heart lay but in having the courage to follow it. 

She sighed. 

Either way she would need an awful lot of courage. 

The carriage pulled up in front of Louis’ mansion. Erik helped her step down, fussing over her slightly more than was needed, but she supposed he was merely trying to take his mind off of how uncomfortable he felt. He hesitated a moment before he offered her his arm as they walked up to the door, which she gladly accepted. For all his seeming affection for her and infatuation with her, he was always so careful to avoid touching her if he could, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the perpetual chill his body seemed to have. 

That chill worried her sometimes, especially after she had first become aware of it - it made her think of how cold her papa’s hands had been when he was deathly ill, and the thought of Erik being ill like that, of possibly losing him how she had lost her father was one she couldn’t stand to entertain. She had asked him, once, if he truly was ill or if he had good health in spite of his coldness, and he had only replied that his hands - and the rest of him - had always been cold for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t answered in regards to the state of his health, and she had noticed. It was a thought that filled her with a strange anxiety, a sense of urgency, but to accomplish _what_ exactly she wasn’t sure. She wondered if he’d even tell her if he knew he was ill, or if he would keep that knowledge from her in the hopes of not worrying and upsetting her - but she could imagine little else more worrying and upsetting than the thought of Erik suddenly disappearing, of just not being there anymore, and the sickly sense of loss that would be sprung on her when she found his door shut and locked for the last time, unable to even bury him properly. 

She squeezed his arm now, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to touch him now that he had offered, wanting to remind herself that even if he was ill he was here with her tonight, real and alive and that in that moment that was all that mattered. He was thin, but she could feel the muscles there that contained a strength belied by his appearance. She hoped dearly that he would dance with her tonight, that she would have a chance to feel that long hand splayed against her back as those arms encircling her - it was the mere curiosity of what it would feel like, she assured herself. 

The doorman paled just a little when he caught sight of Erik’s mask, but Christine tried to compensate for it by smiling as sweetly as she could, hoping to cut down on the intimidation factor. The man seemed to remember himself and bowed slightly, welcoming them. She had hoped that once in the crowd they would blend in a bit better, but she quickly found this wasn’t the case. From the instant they stepped into the party, eyes here and there turned to them - to him - and began to whisper. 

“What do you think he’s hiding?” came concerned murmuring. 

“I must have missed where the invitation said this was a masquerade,” followed by haughty snickers. 

“What is she doing with _him_?” was said with thinly veiled disgust.

Christine’s face turned red and she gripped his arm a little tighter, shooting scowls at the people gawking at them. Why couldn’t they just let him be? He wasn’t even doing anything and yet still they saw fit to pick at him - she was shocked and horrified by the rudeness of it all. It was no wonder he avoided going outside as much as he could. 

Erik glanced down her hands clutching to him before glancing at her face, confused. He followed her line of sight and saw what was causing her distress, feeling immensely guilty. 

“I am sorry, Christine,” he said quietly. 

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and scooted closer to his side as if to prove a point to the staring couples and to Erik. 

“Apologies are for when you’ve done something wrong, Erik. Have you done something wrong?”

He was on the verge of saying he had done something wrong just by existing, but he knew she never took well to hearing him say those kinds of things about himself, so he settled for merely placing his hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. 

Her face softened as she gazed at him, the other couples forgotten. 

“Now, why don’t we go take a look at that buffet?” she smiled. 

A long table at one end of the great room held platter after platter of various foods and desserts and a number of attendants stood by to serve it to guests. Christine picked up a plate for herself and had already placed two different desserts on it before she realized that Erik was empty handed. She considered this, and the possibility that he really hadn’t been to any sort of a party before. 

“Erik,” she whispered. “If you take a plate they’ll give you whatever you ask for.”

His lips twitched into almost a smile. 

“I know how it works, Christine. I am merely not hungry.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re never hungry, though. I think you should eat something, just in case.”

“I am fine, truly.”

“Erik, I am not leaving this spot until you have at least five things on your plate.”

He grumbled a little, but dutifully picked up a plate and after much consideration, had the bare minimum of five different types of food on it. Christine’s plate, in contrast, was quite full - and she made certain to glance at what he had picked and took extra of that, as well. 

They made their way to one of the tables that lined the edges of the room. After they had settled Christine began to move some of the food from her plate to his. 

“ _Christine_ -“

“You don’t eat enough, Erik,” she fretted. “Did you even eat all today?”

“I- ah...”

On the whole Erik was ecstatic about Christine staying in his home, but the one downside to it all was that now she had become acquainted with his myriad less-than-healthy habits, and she seemed intent on getting him to change them. She was quite insistent that both food and sleep were absolutely necessary _every single day_ , while Erik... Disagreed. Still, he could deny her very little, so he let her fill his plate until they both had the same amount. 

“I expect you to eat it all, too,” she teased. 

“Hmm. You expect quite a lot, my dear.”

“Raoul would have been going back for seconds by now,” she laughed, but her laughter died when she saw the sullen look crossed his face at the mention of Raoul. 

Raoul. Well. Her evening was already ruined by not being able to bring the boy, Erik thought to himself, so he may as well eat whatever she wished him to lest his refusal to do so only ruin the night all the more. He stabbed a chocolate covered strawberry with his fork and took a bite, not meeting her eye. 

She pursed her lips, suddenly wanting to change the subject to something less... _Raoul_. She truly hadn’t meant anything by the comparison... But perhaps if that’s what it took to get him to eat... 

She pushed Raoul from her mind and focused instead on the food, making small comments here and there about which cake she thought was best, the different combinations possible between the meats and the sauces. Erik replied likewise, all too happy to forget she had even mentioned the boy, the simple, mindless conversation flowing easily between them as they ate. 

“I should go introduce us to Louis while we have the chance,” she suddenly said. 

Erik grimaced. 

“You may introduce yourself, but I do not wish to meet anyone,” he told her. 

She pulled a pouting face. 

“Go with me, at least... You don’t have to say anything. I just- I just don’t want him to think I came here alone,” she twisted her napkin in her hands, hoping that he wouldn’t make her continue that thought, that she didn’t want Louis to tell Raoul that she had come to the party by herself. 

His eyes softened. 

“Oh. Of course, Christine. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s alright,” she shook her head. 

He followed close behind her until she found the man she assumed must be the host of the party, at which point he hung back. 

“Louis?” she asked politely. 

The man’s face brightened. He was very finely dressed, and Christine recalled what Raoul had mentioned about the de Chagnys being one of the lesser families of nobility - from what she’d seen of Louis’ mansion and the man himself, she could believe it. 

“How do you do? I’m Christine Daaé, a good friend of Raoul de Chagny,” she gave a little curtsy. 

“Ah, Christine, yes. It’s lovely to meet you. Raoul told me about you... The little opera singer.”

His eyes raked over her and she felt her face color, but not in a pleasant way.

_the little opera singer_  


Something about the way he said it made her skin crawl. She gave a tight-lipped smile. 

“I just wanted to thank for throwing such a wonderful party, my good friend and I are quite enjoying it,” she glanced back at Erik. 

“You are quite welcome, Christine,” he smirked. 

She found she didn’t like the way he said her name, either. When Raoul said her name, full of joy and gentle teasing, it made her feel mirthful and young, reminiscent of childhood days spent at the beach together. When Erik said her name, it was with a breathless wonder that sometimes made her feel awkward, but mostly just made her feel cared for. 

When Louis said her name, it made her feel like he knew all about the things that went on the dark corners of the Opera Populaire and was picturing doing those things with her. 

“I- I won’t take up any more of your time, you must be quite busy, I'm sure” she curtsied again quickly and hurried off, followed by Erik. 

She blinked against the stinging in her eyes, comforted at least by Erik’s silent presence near her. 

Raoul was so kind to her, he had always had been. He had never seen any sort of gap between their social classes, never treated her as anything less than an equal despite their vastly different social standings. But he was the only one out of his family and friends that did so. A life spent with Raoul would be a life spent being looked down on, spent fielding knowing stares and nasty gossip and pretending that such things didn’t hurt. It was a pretty thought, that all she would need is the love and respect of her husband, but it simply wasn’t true. No matter how well Raoul treated her, he couldn’t change the minds of all the nobility, couldn’t get them all to treat her with respect - he could barely get his own family to treat her decently. 

Besides that, he wouldn’t even be there half of the time - he was likely to continue going on expeditions for several years to come, at least. Half of the year she’d be left to fend herself, utterly alone and surround by those who looked down on her. She couldn’t ask him to give up on his expeditions, or to disown his title and family - although she had the suspicion that he would do so without her even asking, and gladly. But where would they go from there, what would they do? Her meager salary as a singer couldn’t support them both, and she just couldn’t picture him being happy in a regular job. She feared, too, that they would grow to resent each other down the line - either he would resent her because he gave up his title and riches for her, or she would come to resent him for allowing the others in his circle to be condescending towards her. 

The Opera Singer and the Vicomte, childhood friends to sweethearts, seemed like a fairytale... and maybe in the end, it was as realistic as one, too. 

Erik had caught the tone in Louis’ voice and hadn’t appreciated it in the least. He had been on the verge of saying something when Christine had called him her “good friend”, however, and sent his mind reeling. _Good friend_. She had called the boy that, too. Did she really consider them on equal footing, think of him in the same way she thought of Raoul? It seemed too good to be true, too much to hope for. But still, she _had_ said it. With great effort he pulled his mind back to the present. 

“Christine?” he reached a hand out and gently touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She had been walking in a straight line away from Louis every since she had bid him goodbye, as though she wanted to place as much distance between the two of them as she could. At Erik’s tentative touch she stopped and turned to face him. 

“I’m fine, Erik, I just-“ she sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Why don’t we have some champagne?”

He nearly protested that it did matter, that her thoughts and feelings mattered, but he knew what it was like to have certain things that were preferable to avoid talking about. Instead he found the nearest waiter with a tray of champagne flutes and took two. 

She thanked him as he handed one to her. They stood there for a few minutes near the edge of the room, looking out at the other people there, dancing and eating and gossiping. She gave a sidelong glance and observed Erik as he observed the party. He looked uneasy, yes, but for the most part his posture wasn’t stiff, he didn’t appear to be sweating nervously, and he moved about normally enough - a far cry from how she thought he would be. 

He happened to catch her her looking at him and he squirmed a little. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

Her lips quirked. 

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lot of staring for nothing.”

“I just didn’t-“ she hesitated. “I mean, there was one day I was out at the market, and I happened to see you there. You looked so nervous and uncomfortable! And I suppose I thought that maybe that’s just how you always were when you were away from home,” she explained. 

“No, you were correct,” he replied. “That is how I am away from home. It feels terribly uncomfortable and unnatural anywhere else. It’s why I don’t go out much, as you’re aware. I feel a peace in the safety my own home that is severely lacking everywhere else.”

She turned to study him curiously. 

“But you seem so fine right now. Are you uncomfortable, even still?”

Erik stared out at the people, debating whether or not he should tell her. 

“It’s you,” he finally said. “Having you here with me. **When I look at you, I can feel it. I look at you and I’m home**.”

Christine sucked in a breath and looked away from him. She didn’t know how to respond to that. It was a good feeling, mostly - good and scary at the same time. How sweet it was to be someone’s home in the midst of such swirling chaos, how scary to have such trust placed in her by one who could trust so very few. She could feel his eyes on her now, and she slowly, shyly, met his gaze. 

“Dance with me, Erik?”

“You- you wish me to?” 

“I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise,” she smiled and offered him her hand. 

His heart pounded as they walked hand in hand towards the dance floor, trying to savor the feeling of her small hand enveloped by his while reminding himself that that the only reason he was here was because she had no one else to go with - it would not do to begin to imagine feelings on her part that did not exist. All the small touches she would give, the concern over his wellbeing, it was all because she was an exceedingly kind person. All the nights and long afternoons she spent in his home, the way she had forgiven his heinous lies to her and overlooked his less-than-savory past, that was simply because he was an exceptional vocal instructor. She stayed by his side because it was through his teaching that her voice had flourished, that she had begun to realize her lifelong dreams on stage. He would be remiss to assume there was some other reason there, some more tender emotion that kept her returning to him even when she had so many reasons to flee. Christine Daaé loved music and singing, and that was all she loved. Music, singing, and freedom. He loved her endlessly, so of course he would give her those things for as long as she allowed him to. He, in return, would take whatever scrap of meaningless affection she would throw his way and cherish each one, keeping them safely locked away in a box in his mind from which he’d take them out and admire when he was alone. There would many such moments tonight that he would replay over and over, he knew. 

“Christine!” a high voice called out, stopping them in their tracks. 

Christine turned to see her friend Colette, one of the chorus girls, waving to them. She pulled Erik along as she went over to say hello. 

“Colette! I didn’t know if I would see you here in such a big crowd!”

“And who is _this_? Is this the vicomte you told us about?” she looked Erik up and down. 

Erik was trying his best to stand directly behind Christine, and as far away as her grip on his hand would allow. If not for the obvious pain that caused him to do so, Christine would have nearly laughed at the absurdity of the Phantom trying to hide behind her, afraid of being introduced to a petite woman. 

“Oh, uh, no - this is Erik,” her cheeks turned pink. “He- he was a soldier in the war.”

The lie flowed effortlessly from her lips although she hadn’t planned it. Colette’s eyes widened and she nodded. 

“How do you do, monsieur?” she gave a little curtsy. 

Erik merely nodded in return. A soldier. Erik had no qualms about himself lying - at times he lied as easily as breathing - but to hear false stories pour from the lips of his angel, even if they were said to protect him, was like a dagger in his chest. Lying did not suit Christine. He had corrupted her, truly. He had taken a pure and innocent being and twisted her into something that spouted lies as easily as he did. What other ways had he marred her that he wasn’t aware of yet? 

“My Brendan is here, too - I know you’ve met him before,” Colette continued. 

She gestured to a young man at the table not too far from them, slouched in his chair, but he raised his glass in a sort of toast when he saw he was being looked at. 

“Well, if I don’t see you again tonight, I’ll see you at the opera,” Christine said. “Erik and I were on our way to dance.”

“It was good to see you both!” Colette again tried to get a better look at Erik, who was still absorbed in his thoughts of self-loathing. 

Christine bid her farewell and gave a small wave to Brendan before gently shaking Erik’s arm, trying to get his attention. 

“Hmm?” his eye were unfocused, but he was vaguely aware she was saying something to him and he looked down at her. 

“Come dance with me,” she said a second time. 

His heart gave a twist as she so easily let him place her in a waltz hold. No flinching away from him, no nervous fidgeting as he touched her. He certainly didn’t know what he had ever done to earn such trust from her. He couldn’t keep from smiling as they began to move to the music. He glanced over to say something but the words died on his tongue when he saw her face - although her body was relaxed and she was allowing him to lead her, her brow was furrowed and she was looking away from him. 

“Christine, what’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, questioning. 

“You look nervous, dear,” his heart was sinking - perhaps this close proximity between them was unnerving her, after all. 

“Oh. I suppose I’m just a little nervous because it’s been so long since I’ve danced with someone,” she ducked her head shyly. 

He tilted his head and smiled fondly at her. 

“That’s no reason to be nervous, silly girl.”

“Erik! It is! I don’t want to trip you!” she giggled. 

He scoffed. 

“You’re not going to trip me, Christine. Just trust me. Now, is that truly all you are nervous about?”

She glanced away again. 

“Yes, mostly...”

“Mostly?”

“Well,” her eyes looked everywhere but at him. “I’m nervous that you- that you won’t think I’m a very good dancer,” she murmured. “It _has_ been a very long time since I’ve danced like this. I’m quite rusty, I’m afraid.”

He wanted to laugh out loud but refrained, not wanting her to think he was laughing at _her_. To imagine that she was concerned over what _he_ would think of _her_ , as though he could possibly find distaste in anything she did, was endlessly amusing to him. Especially when considering- 

“Christine, do you know how many times I’ve danced like this with someone?”

Her brow furrowed again in concentration. 

“Mmm, five? Ten?”

He shook his head. 

“I’ve never danced with anyone before, my dear.”

She gave a little gasp. 

“But- but you’re so _good_ at it- oh, I never would have guessed!”

“I have watched dances, of course, and I imagine being so acquainted with music certainly helps, but -“ the words stuck in his throat. “This is my first time.”

She smiled as she considered this. It was a little sad to consider that in all his years he’d never had anyone to dance with, but a lot of things about Erik were sad to consider, and the whole it was pleasant to think that she, of all people, had the privilege of being the very first to dance with him. 

“Well, it is both our first times then, because I’ve never been to the kind of party where you only dance with one person...”

She had been to two parties with dances before, both hosted by the Opera House where the singers and performers were expected to dance with the patrons and guests. But never something as intimate as this. 

Her face felt hot and she prayed she could form the words without stuttering. 

“I’m quite pleased that my first time is with you, Erik.”

Her words, along with his confession, hung in the air after she said them, the both of them awkwardly aware of certain other situations those same words could be uttered about, both of them trying very hard to remind themselves that they were most definitely only speaking about dancing and nothing more. 

Erik wanted so badly to add his agreement somehow, to let her know how all those lonely years were made up for by having her here in his arms now, to tell her how he wouldn’t have had it any other way, to speak some tender words of affection, but instead he accidentally blurted out a vaguely accusatory statement, ruining the poignant moment and making him hate himself all the more. 

“I’m sure the boy would have made a far better partner for you.”

She bit her lip. 

“I don’t want to think about Raoul right now,” she told him.

“Because you miss him too much,” the words fell from his lips like lead. 

“Because I only want to think about _you_. It’s not every day a girl gets go to a dance with her Angel, and I want to enjoy that.”

He tightened his grip on her just slightly, and feeling that she moved in closer to him. 

“Besides, do _you_ want to keep thinking about him, especially during our first dance?”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought not,” she snickered. 

“He will not make an appearance again in our conversation tonight, I assure you,” he said wryly. “It is merely... I find myself in awe, still, that you would agree to have me here with you. I can scarcely believe it, even now.”

“Believe it,” she nodded. 

A couple near them performed a dramatic move, the man dipping the woman deeply before pulling her back up, and it distracted them both and saved Erik from having to respond. Christine and Erik looked from the daring couple to each other, and she noticed the mischievous spark that had suddenly come into his eyes. 

“Erik-“ she warned playfully. 

His lips curved into a wicked grin and he maneuvered her backwards suddenly, her laughing ringing out as he did so. He pulled her up from the dip, his heart racing at how entirely she had trusted him and allowed him to move her like that. Once upright again she overcompensated and leaned on him a little more than was strictly necessary. 

The musicians played song after song and Erik indulged her in dance after dance and she no sign of wishing to stop. 

“Christine,” he asked when the musicians paused to prepare for another song. “Do you truly to wish to keep dancing? Do you not wish to talk to anyone, or look for your friends, perhaps?”

He had noticed that the majority of couples spent a great deal of time in circles and small groups around tables, chatting and gossiping, seem small groups made up only of women here and there while their boyfriends and husbands and partners talked to each other, some mixed groups as well. They would come now and then for a few dances and take breaks for more food and socializing. 

She shook her head and beamed at him. 

“The only person I wish to spend time with at this party is right here. What use have I for anyone else?”

She cocked her head to the side. 

“Unless this is your way of telling me you need a break for a while?”

He scoffed. 

“Do you really think I’m that old of a man that I require a break after a mere handful of dances?”

She bit her lip and tried - and failed - to hold back a grin. 

“Well... _Do_ you need a break, Erik?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and spun her into the next dance as the music started up once more. 

If she wanted to spend the entire evening dancing with him, he wouldn’t complain in the least. She really did seem to only have eyes for him that night, content to simply be there with him. It was a novel idea, that she would feel so comfortable with his hands upon her, that she wouldn’t be repulsed by his touch. He never dared to imagine that it would be so - she would politely tolerate him, perhaps, or veil her discomfort, but this - she actually seemed to _welcome_ his touch and it was a thought that nearly made him giddy. 

Raoul greeted the doorman and hurried into the grand room. He would greet his old friend Louis soon enough, but first he had to find Christine. He had rushed right over after training drills had finished, taking the necessary amount of time to change and wash beforehand but wasting no time. Poor Christine, at the party all alone - what a surprise he would give her when he appeared! And not the only surprise he had up his sleeve for the evening, either.

He scanned the crowd, looking for her and wondering if perhaps she had come with a group of friends or truly just by herself. At last he spotted her out on the dance floor. 

His heart dropped. She was not alone.

He felt an odd pang in his chest, and then felt irritated for feeling it - how could he be jealous when he was the one who had told her to go with someone else if she had the chance? Granted, he had assumed she’d go with Meg or Alexis or Colette or any of the other _girl_ acquaintances of hers... 

But really, he didn’t have a right to be jealous, did he? They weren’t courting - not yet, anyway. His hand strayed to his pocket and grasped the little velvet box stowed there. 

He observed the man she was dancing with. He had a fleeting hope that perhaps he was only a man she had met at the party - but they seemed awfully familiar with each other. He was tall and handsomely dressed, although rather on the thin side. Most unsettling was the white mask that covered half of his face. It was that mask, coupled with how at ease she seemed in his arms that made Raoul realize who he was - this was Christine’s disfigured tutor. She had made mention of the man - for he truly was only a man, most certainly _not_ an angel as he had first told her, practically crushing her when he finally revealed his deception - a number of times before, though she had always been hazy with details. This was the first time he had ever laid eyes on the man. Raoul would never forget how upset she had been after her tutor confessed his lack of heavenly origin, those tears streaming down her pretty face as she sought his advice on whether or not she ought to spurn the man and send him away for tricking her so. He had insisted that Christine was well within her rights to demand the ersatz angel never speak to her again, but it wasn’t until weeks later he found out that she had decided to continue her lessons with him all the same. 

Raoul studied the pair as they swept their way across the floor, lost in the music and in each other. 

**True love cannot be found where it does not truly exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does**. And there was no hiding what Christine Daaé and her strange tutor so clearly felt for each other. 

The way she grinned up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, how he leaned down to whisper something in her ear that left her in a fit of giggles, his thumb caressing her back, the tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at her. 

Raoul’s chest hadn’t hurt like this since that time he had a scuffle with another cadet and been kicked squarely in the ribs. He had known that he and Christine were not exclusively seeing each other, but he hadn’t realized that she looked at anyone else with the same affection that she gave to him. Yet here she was, looking at her tutor the very same way. His feet felt frozen to the floor, unable to carry out their mission. Well, he certainly couldn’t complete that mission now, could he? Just walk up to the two of them and send the man on his way now that he had arrived for Christine? 

He squeezed the little box, thinking of the ring inside of it - a delicate gold band with a glimmering pale blue stone, the same color as her eyes. Not an engagement ring - not exactly, not yet - but a gift to give her as he asked for permission to court her. They had known each other so long, had been quite close for a while now - surely a courtship between the two of them would not take very long until they actually were engaged. He certainly couldn’t give the ring to her now. 

She had told him conversationally a few times that she had no interest in marrying until she was certain it wouldn’t interfere with her plans for her career - and it was a discussion that they had had in depth just over six months ago after she had pushed him back from a particularly heated kiss (everything had been going so well until he had slipped his tongue into her mouth like Philippe had told him about, it was that that caused her to pull away and he had apologized profusely and not without a few tears on his part). She had been quite insistent in making sure he understood that she was not interested in officially courting, and was definitely not interested in getting engaged and would not be for the foreseeable future - although she had supposed there was not too much harm in the occasional kiss (but not the kind Philippe had told him about, not again), and that she would gladly accompany him to various events and outings just so long as he was aware that such things were not evidence of an impending serious relationship between them. 

When he had gone out to buy the ring, he had assumed that perhaps she had changed her mind on those things, because surely enough time had passed - nearer to a full year than not! But now, seeing how she behaved with this masked fellow, he couldn’t help but wonder if that had something to do with her avoidance of pledging her heart to Raoul - perhaps her heart already belonged to another. He recalled with a twinge of pain that she had mentioned during that long-ago conversation that she didn’t mind if Raoul took other girls out, too, without having to ask her permission just as long he told her if he began courting anyone. Perhaps at the time she had been thinking of herself and her tutor, and he wondered what else she might be keeping from him about this man and her. 

Raoul was utterly at a loss for what to do. He ashamedly realized he shouldn’t - couldn’t - give her the ring, now. And not just that he couldn’t give it to her at the party - he would be remiss to give it to her at all, as she would surely turn him down. Her mind hadn’t changed, and he had been foolish to think otherwise. He would only look a spectacular fool if he made any grand gestures towards her - she had been clear with her wishes. 

He also realized that he couldn’t mention this other man or question her as to her feelings towards her tutor or else she would know that he had attended the party and saw them together and then left. He clenched his jaw. What a sorry situation he had gotten himself into. But-

But Christine did look so happy with this older man. He was shocked to admit how happy she seemed in his presence, and wasn’t Christine’s happiness the only thing that mattered? Christine deserved to be happy. He had thought that she was happy with him, too, but now he felt as if he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Perhaps he should pose the question to her, all the same - it might be the only way to truly know what was in her heart. He would ask, and she would turn him down, and he would weep - but at least he would know. Still, he was hesitant to end whatever they had. If he put it to her so outright, she might not feel comfortable continuing their more-than-friends-but-less-than-lovers relationship... She might not even want to be friends after he asked her. Was the chance of winning her hand worth the chance of losing her presence in his life? 

He couldn’t decide that right now. He shoved the ring box back in his pocket and turned around, walking woodenly to the door and stepping out into cool evening air, feeling rather numb except for the stinging in his eyes. He hadn’t even said hello to Louis. It didn’t even matter anymore.

In the same way that Christine didn’t care for socializing with anyone else, Erik found he swiftly stopped caring about any stares or remarks directed towards him. Nothing mattered except for Christine. 

They passed the time with light conversation when the speed of the music allowed for it, opting for breathless silence on the faster ones. 

It was during one of the faster dances that she sucked in a quick breath and she noticed something - someone - on the dance floor. Louis was there, tapping on the shoulders of men and asking to cut in, before twirling the women around. 

“What’s wrong?” Erik whispered. 

She nodded over at Louis, who steadily trading partners and dancing ever closer to them. 

“Oh- oh, Erik - I don’t want to dance with him!” she dismayed. 

“No?”

“No, I only want to dance with _you_.”

“Hmm. Fret not, my dear.”

Erik slowly but surely began to dance them away from Louis. Had Christine asked to, or had she she shown even the smallest interest in doing so, he would have let her dance with anyone her heart desired, Louis included. He found, however, that the thought of that rake dancing with her horribly unappealing - her dancing with the boy would have been bad enough, but at least the boy had always treated her with all tenderness she deserved. If Raoul had a redeeming factor in Erik’s eyes, it was how he treated Christine. This Louis fellow, though - he struck Erik as the sort of nobleman who saw fit to enjoy a performer’s art, applaud her on stage, even make one or two his mistress - but then would have the nerve to treat her as though she were less than him, to denigrate her in front of other nobles, as though she were good enough to warm his bed but not to sit next to him at dinner. 

Erik was pleased that she didn’t wish to dance with the man, but he only wished that she didn’t have reason to want to avoid him all the same. 

He skillfully maneuvered them in such a way that they made it to the edge of the dance floor without it looking like they were avoiding their host, finally spinning them both into the shadows near the wall, unseen by the other guests. 

They stood there for a moment, both trying to catch their breath and leaning just slightly against the wall. Louis was none the wiser, and Christine was safe from his clutches. She laughed quietly, breathlessly - her dear Erik had so quickly agreed to hide her from the man, it almost reminded her of being a child again and playing hide and seek. 

Christine felt oddly secure in that moment, hidden behind a row of tables and beneath the shadow of the great curtains hanging on the wall, Erik by her side - a seemingly secure-feeling Erik, as well. She thought again about what he had said regarding being around her and feeling at home. 

Christine Daaé had never had a home, not really. She had traveled too much as a child to truly consider anyplace her home, and she had never really considered the places she lived later on as home, either. It wasn’t that she disliked anywhere she had lived - it was simply that there was no place she had the fondest memories of, no place that stuck out in her mind as where she was ‘from’. 

She dared a glance up at Erik. It was such a romantic notion, but she didn’t feel it return - she felt safe around him, she felt he cared for her wellbeing, she felt happy around him, but she didn’t feel like he was _home_. Raoul didn’t feel like _home_ , either, although she felt many of the same feelings about him as she did with Erik. Was a partner _supposed_ to feel like ‘home’? Was that how you knew they were the one? She hadn’t felt that way about anyone, and couldn’t imagine what it might feel like. Perhaps there was something wrong with her specifically that kept her from being able to feel it - perhaps her constant moving during childhood had damaged her somehow, caused her to be unable to feel that at all. But no, Erik surely had a worse childhood than she, he certainly had never had a place he felt safe and connected to as a child, yet he was still able to feel it. 

She frowned and looked away from him, needing something to distract her from her thoughts. She didn’t have to look far to find it. 

The couple at the table nearest them were kissing. They were unfortunately directly in Christine and Erik’s line of sight, and unfortunately had seemed to forget that there were other people about. Erik had pointedly turned his head to avoid looking at them, while Christine stared with a morbid fascination before turning a sidelong glance at Erik. 

She couldn’t deny that the thought of what it might feel like to be kissed by Erik was one that she had entertained a number of times before. Elaborate scenarios concocted in her mind of how such a thing might finally come about drove her to make rationalizations about how it was mere curiosity that drove her to think things like that, but the fact remained that she didn’t wonder about that topic with anyone else. She didn’t have to wonder how it felt to have Raoul kiss her - they had kissed a handful of times, there wasn’t anything to wonder about _there_. But Erik - Erik was different. And now they were at a party, and it was Valentine’s Day, and they were here together, and it was almost a given that every couple here tonight was going to kiss at least once... They might not be a couple in the traditional sense, they certainly weren’t courting, but that had never stopped her and Raoul. She could explain the odd request away as gratitude towards him for coming with her, as tradition seeing as how everyone else was doing so today, as politeness since she knew he probably wanted to but would never ask her himself - but the honest truth was she wanted to simply because she wanted to. She had imagined and wondered for long enough, and now she wanted to know. 

“Erik,” she said in a small voice. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Erik recoiled as if she’d slapped him. He turned to look at her with such hurt in his eyes, expecting to see her smirking as she realized she’d uncovered a dirty secret about him. But there was no mocking in the look on her face, only honesty and perhaps a little bit of hope. It took a moment for his mind to register that she wasn’t making fun of him at all - she really was offering. 

She nervously glanced away for a moment before looking at him again. 

“You can if you’d like to, you know,” she told him. 

“Truly, Christine?”

“Yes.”

He stared out across the sea of people, unable to continue meeting her eye. He had never imagined he would be afforded such an opportunity, that she would freely offer him this. Up until now he had figured the only way he would ever have a chance to kiss her was if he forced her to do so - so he had stowed the secret hope of a kiss far away, because even just the thought of treating her in such a vile manner made him feel sick. He knew she was likely only offering now out of pity, perhaps because she thought that he would like it and she was such a sweet young woman who always strove to be so kind to others, that she probably only asked because she felt she owed it him after he had taken to her the party, and that the wisest choice would be to decline, to not make her have to endure that. Only a scoundrel felt a kiss was owed to him from a woman, and if that’s why she was offering then Erik did not want to be that kind of fiend. It would only complicate things all around if he kissed her. But he also knew that this chance would not come again. 

He turned back to face her, and feeling like the worst and lowest of men, he gave a single nod. 

He took a step closer to her, slowly, so as to give her time to change her mind. But she scooted closer to him as well and placed her hands on his chest. 

She watched as his gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, and she let her eyes close as she lifted her chin just a little. In the brief moments as he stooped down to kiss her, she wondered one last time what it was going to be like - would he be gentle, shy? Or would he claim her mouth with a passion befitting the nearly drunk couple at the table near them? 

Lithe fingers threaded through her hair and she felt a little shiver travel down her spine in anticipation. She couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped her as those cold lips pressed reverently, adoringly, first on her forehead and then on her cheek. Her eyes flew open as he bundled her into his embrace, pressing one more kiss to the top of her head. 

She hadn’t been expecting that at all. She knew that he liked her in way that was more than just teacher and student, more than just friends, even - yet here she had offered him any sort of kiss, his for the taking, and instead of fully seizing the opportunity and attempting something bold and passionate and overpowering (like that thing Raoul had tried with his tongue once), he had treated her with such tenderness and worshipful respect that it took her breath away. Instead of behaving as though it were finally the chance to slake his lust and consume her like a meal, he had acted like she were an infinitely precious treasure, and she was shaken by that revelation. She had never imagined it would be like that. 

He nuzzled his face into her hair as he held her close. 

“Oh, Christine, my dear, thank you,” he murmured. “You have no idea what all this has meant to me. I love you so much.”

He immediately regretted his words when he felt her shoulders tense. He had finally spoiled everything once and for all, a voice in his head told him. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she realized they had crossed a bridge that could never be uncrossed now - they could no longer skirt around the subject, she could no longer pretend that she didn’t know what his true feelings towards her were, no longer count the depth of his emotion towards her. A kiss didn’t have to mean anything - but this one certainly had and now she had to face the consequences of that. 

“It’s alright,” he tried to reassure her. “I don’t expect you to say it back. I know you don’t love me.”

She tried to choke back a sob. There was no spite in how he said the words, no bitterness. He merely stated it as fact, something he had long ago accepted. His tone on those heart wrenching words would not have been out place in a list of other facts - ‘the sky is blue, water is wet, and Christine, you don’t love me’. 

He released his hold on her once he realized she was crying. 

“Forgive me, Christine,” he pleaded. “I forgot myself - I should not have said anything. I promise that you will not have to hear those words from me ever again.”

He made to pull away from her entirely but she quickly moved her hands from where they were braced against his chest to wrap her arms around him and keep him there. 

“No- no, don’t say that!” she cried. “I-" she looked up at him but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “I _care_ for you, very deeply. You mean a great deal to me, Erik.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach up to his eyes. Care was not love, and they both knew it. He gently pushed a stray curl away from her face. 

She rested her cheek on his chest again, pulling him close. He let his arms return to where they had been moments ago, holding her. With his hand running gently up and down her back, he could feel every little hitch in her breathing. Guilt pressed in on him from every side - she had only wanted to attended a party and dance, and now she was standing in the shadows and crying and it was because of him. 

“Please tell me why you’re crying,” he whispered, desperately hoping he could do something to make it better. 

“Because,” she sniffled. “I’m afraid... I’m so afraid that I’m going to break your heart, and I won’t even realize it, that I’ll do it without even meaning to.”

His breath caught in his throat. 

“You shouldn’t worry yourself over that, my sweet. Besides, **it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you**.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t worry about whether or not I hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. I _do_ care about you. It’s just-“

She tried to gather her thoughts. 

“You know I’ve said in the past that I don’t intend to marry, not for a long time, at least. I like my life how it is right now, I don’t want to change that.”

“What about the boy?” he murmured. 

She shook her head. 

“Raoul knows that, too. I like being the mistress of my own actions, I like the freedom I have right now, and getting engaged or married would disrupt that. But-“

“But?”

“But... I don’t want you to say that I don’t love you...” she buried her face into his jacket. “It makes me feel awful to hear you say that... And- and I’m sorry, too, that I can’t love you in the way you’d like me to right now.”

“It’s not your fault, Christine,” he gently stroked her hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I think we both know that we are never meant to be.”

She cringed at those words, couldn’t take how resigned they sounded, how final. How he could he know that for certain when she herself was still so unsure? 

“Besides,” he mused. “Who could fault an angel for not falling in love with a monster?”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about yourself like that,” she demanded, feeling oddly insulted by it - as though she were demeaning herself with her feelings for him. 

She pulled back and wiped at her face. 

“Please, let’s just- let’s just enjoy the rest of the party?” she looked up at him hopefully. “Will you dance with me again? You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“Of course, Christine. I- I apologize again.”

He offered his hand, which she took, and he led her out to the dance floor once more. 

He couldn’t help but marvel at his blessed luck yet again as she allowed him to pull her so close. He had half a mind to go and find the boy’s commanding office and fall at his feet thanking him, for if he had never caused Raoul to have to cancel on Christine, Erik would never have known the glorious wonder of dancing with her, never would have received the all-too-precious prize of her there in his arms that night. Perhaps he would find the man’s address and send him some sort of anonymous gift... The only problem was he could think of nothing that would seem adequate payment for an opportunity like this. 

Christine sighed happily as the musicians began another waltz. She felt she could dance with Erik forever. As he spun her around the dance floor in his embrace, her mind started to wander. The echoes of his declaration of love still replayed themselves, and the way he had offered his own heart to be broken by her still haunted her conscience. Erik had such a big heart, he didn’t deserve to have it broken. He had been hurt in so many ways by so many people in the past, and she was loath to add herself to the list of those who had left scars on him. But above all she had to remain to true to herself - she couldn’t bring herself to say something she wasn’t certain she truly felt, and she wasn’t going to renege on her stance about not courting anyone in the foreseeable future. Besides, it would end up hurting him worse if she told him now that she loved him, only to realize down the line that it wasn’t the kind of love _he_ had been speaking of at all... 

She must have let some of her thoughts bleed through to her expression, for Erik frowned and whispered to her, “You aren’t going to cry again, are you?”

She shook her head as though to clear her mind and gave a small chuckle. 

“No, Erik, I’m not. No more tears tonight, I promise.”

They danced for several more songs until at last she tugged him over to sit at a table once more, her feet starting to ache. She flagged down a waiter and grabbed two more flutes of champagne for them, taking a rather long sip of hers. 

“More champagne, Christine? Remember we still have a lesson tomorrow - I won’t go easy on you just because you have a headache after overindulging tonight,” he teased her before taking a sip himself. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“I am perfectly capable of handling my champagne, monsieur, I assure you!” she snickered. 

“Ah, you might be, my dear, but what of your poor, old teacher? He can’t handle hangovers at his age anymore,” he sighed. 

She gave an overdramatic, exaggerated sigh of her own and shook her head. 

“No one is _forcing_ you to drink it, Erik. Are you not fully capable of denying another drink if you truly don’t want it?”

“If you offered it?” he leaned back and shook his head. “I am capable of denying you nothing.”

She felt a tiny shock, similar to the sensation of pricking her finger with a needle while in the middle of sewing and not expecting it - he had often teased her in such a flirting manner, but after tonight there could be doubting the sincerity behind such shameless flattery. She downed her champagne in a most unladylike fashion. 

Erik insisted that they eat a little more along with the champagne so that it wouldn’t turn her head too quickly, and though she felt perfectly fine she acquiesced with the hopes of both extending the evening and having him eat for the second time that day. 

They stayed and talked on subjects of no consequence until, much to her horror, Christine yawned while Erik was trying to tell her a story. He stopped his tale and gave her a kind smile. 

“My dear, this evening is entirely yours, and I don’t wish to cut it short, but perhaps you would like to be going home soon?”

“Hmm... I’d stay here till dawn with you if I could, Erik,” she murmured sleepily. “But I think you’re right, we should be returning soon.”

She spared one last glance around the great room as they heading for the door. It was an evening she would always remember, for so many reasons. 

Erik helped her into the cab and as the door was closed the silence, after being so long around the chatter of music and noise inside, was deafening. She had a sudden urge to pull him to her and kiss him as she had been expecting him to kiss her earlier, but she held back from doing so. Instead she simply moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. 

Erik felt his heart stutter as she leaned against him. He let his hand creep down to where her hand rested on the cushion between them, entwining his fingers with hers. It was so easy like this, to pretend they were a real couple. He found himself immensely grateful for her kind affection, even if it didn’t mean the same thing to her as it did to him. 

“Did you enjoy your party, sweet?” he asked softly. 

“I did. Thank you for coming with me,” she nestled a little closer, looking up at him shyly. “Did you enjoy it, too?”

“I could think of no greater bliss,” he gave her hand a little squeeze. 

They spent much of the ride back in silence. 

Christine wondered what the evening would have been like with Raoul. Enjoyable, certainly - Raoul was always enjoyable. But being with Erik had been quite enjoyable, too. Knowing now that he was capable of relaxing at least a little while out and about - as long as he was with her, of course - she found herself not quite certain about who she found more enjoyable as company. Perhaps she would have asked him to the party in the first if she’d known - she couldn’t say for certain. 

Perhaps now she wouldn’t have to wait for Raoul if there was something she wanted to go to but not by herself. Erik would undoubtedly go with her anywhere she asked - but she wondered how fair it would be to ask him to do so, knowing what she knew now. 

Fair. She closed her eyes. None of this was fair. She hadn’t asked for this, for any of it - she had only ever wanted to sing. She hadn’t asked for a man to pretend to be an angel and then fall in love with her, she hadn’t asked for a vicomte to be in her life and want to court her, either. She hadn’t asked for the impossible choice between the two. Was it too much to ask that things simply go on as they had? She enjoyed Raoul company on outings, she enjoyed lesson with Erik and staying in his home. But sooner or later things would change. They would have to, eventually. 

She looked up at Erik and noticed he was looking at her. Erik. He hadn’t asked for any of this either, she realized. He hadn’t asked to fall in love with her, hadn’t asked to feel so strongly about a young woman who couldn’t even parse her own feelings towards him. He certainly hadn’t asked for his face. She smiled up at him. 

When the cab arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, he helped her down once more and took her through the Rue Scribe entrance, and led her by the hand up to her dormitory room. They lingered outside the hallway for a moment, still holding hands. For the briefest of moments she thought he was going to kiss her hand, but he seemed to think the better of it and slowly her hand slip from his. 

“Thank you again, Erik. It was a truly lovely evening.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, my dear. I will cherish the memory of tonight always.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

The last thought to float through her mind as she sank into bed and fell asleep was the realization that she _still_ didn’t know how his lips would feel against her own, and it was a realization that was surprisingly irritating. 

Erik was there behind the mirror in her dressing room to take take her down to his home for her lesson that afternoon. She had expected there to be something different between them now that he had finally uttered those fateful words, finally acknowledged the truth that had always been just below the surface, but he appeared to be the same old Erik he had always been. 

Perhaps it was easier for him that way, she mused. Perhaps it was easier to pretend that the conversation had never happened than it was to face the reality of all they had spoken. 

The only thing close to a mention of the previous day came when he was poling the gondola across the lake. 

“I trust you are feeling well today?” he asked anxiously. “You have not overtaxed yourself?”

“No, I feel quite fine, Erik,” she shook her head. 

“Good, good.”

Her lesson seemed no different than all her previous lessons. She wondered with a pang about how practiced he must be in hiding his feelings for her, in keeping himself professional in her presence. 

He once again offered her food or drink, and although she was a little hungry she politely told him that she had somewhere else to be. He nodded, a brief glimpse of disappointed melancholy flashing across his face, yet he took her upstairs without complaint. 

There was somewhere else she needed to be.

The little chapel in the opera house smelled musty, and it had a distinct feeling of haunted solitude- something that tended to frighten and unnerve the other girls, but something Christine found peaceful and comforting. 

She sank to the stone floor and struck a match, lighting a white candle and watching the flame flicker in the darkness against the faceted glass for a moment before closing her eyes and praying for the wisdom to know where her heart was, and the courage to follow it.


End file.
